


An Emperor's Indulgence

by choirofangels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top!Cas, bottom!Dean, fluffy in places, human!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:36:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choirofangels/pseuds/choirofangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a well-kept slave boy openly interested in sleeping with men and Castiel is the Emperor of Rome. </p><p>(It's nothing like Nero and Sporus, I swear.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Emperor's Indulgence

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly smut. I came up with the idea and wrote it in a day which made me pretty darn pleased with myself. 
> 
> Of course, if this were legit, they'd be speaking in Latin. Pshh.

In history, rulers of the Roman Empire have gained a notorious reputation for being callous, self-centered, ruthless and heartless dictators. That, for the most part, is true.

Castiel has ruled as Emperor for four and a half years and, to the opinion of others as well as himself, he is _good at it_. He's certainly not another homicidal control-freak megalomaniac for his poor subordinates to deal with, which lends to a lot of support from both them and the citizens of his great city. He loves Rome: the heat, the grand architecture, the hustle and bustle of day to day life, the smell of warm oil and fresh bread, the lush market bounty attracting buyers and sellers from all over the world, the vehemence in open political debate; he can wax lyrical on the subject for hours, but more than anything, he loves his people and his people love him.

Judging by the graffiti on the walls of the Forum, the people also happen to think he's beautiful. His raven-black hair, chiseled jaw and eyes more blue than crystalline water make his good looks and debonair charm a talking point throughout the land. He is loved and loves in return, his city, his country, his empire.

Compared to previous rulers, a number of things are different about Castiel. For example, even though he is Emperor, and as such there is no refusing his demands, Castiel rarely allows himself exuberant indulgences. He argues that the people of Rome require him to lead them, to help them flourish and prosper, not to wallow in afforded luxury.

A number of men close to the Emperor, who had thought themselves anonymous, want his head on a silver platter, simply for forsaking his privilege to satisfy himself and those closest to him, as he can do so without question or complaint. Unfortunately for them, when he was publicly informed of this in an attempt to embarrass him, Castiel had merely laughed, claiming their outrage is born of jealousy and not wasted opportunity. He had learned from his predecessors' mistakes and, in turn, it had earned him great support.

Castiel had dispatched undercover soldiers to find and dispose of these men. Two days later, rain washed the streets clean of the blood of mutinous traitors. The small, quiet uprising had been quashed and Castiel feels that, quite frankly, the men involved could have found better reasons to forfeit their lives to the Empire.

Despite his successful, well put together personal profile, those close to him know a somewhat surprising secret: although he is on the receiving end of literally thousands of proposals, Emperor Castiel is adamantly disinterested in finding a wife. However, he is human, and as such, indulgence sometimes transgresses into need.

In his palace in Rome, on the highest chair, Castiel makes eye contact with his guard and simply declares 'I'm ready for them now'. He reclines back into the soft cushioning, chin resting on one hand, finger poised to his lips. He's wearing his favourite toga for the occasion; it's cloud white and accentuates his slim hips, held together with gold thread.

The guard nods, opening the door to Castiel's carefully chosen reception area. Ten young men are brought in, shackled loosely but clean, well-kept, tanned and muscular. Some eye him with wonder and amazement, some keep their gaze pinned to the floor. He smiles at each and every one of them, regardless of whether they return his smile or not.

These are the crème de la crème, the most expensive of all slave boys in Italy. He can buy them all, if he chooses, but he's just looking for one. One boy to keep all for himself. Castiel believes he'll be more special that way and he refuses to lose himself to senseless vice.

The boys come to a stop before him, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, heads high and facing him. There are three things he notes with increasing interest. 

The first, is that none of them are frightened in the way he's seen slave boys behave before. 

The second, is that they're all naked as the day they were born. 

The third, making him delightedly lick his lips, is that they're all hard, having been brought in that way. Presentation is key in all forms of business and he appreciates the sentiment, considering the way a couple of them look so hard it must be painful.

Silence falls on the room, ricocheting off the high ceilings while he takes them all in.

'You've done a fine job, Caecilius,' Castiel compliments finally, standing and coming to clap a hand on the seller's back, roving his eyes over the feast before him. 'They're all glorious.'

Caecilius bows his head, muttering his thanks, bowing again when Castiel shoots him a wayward smile.

The Emperor considers the treat before him, then begins to pace before the boys – young men, really, none are under an age he considers to be vulgar – roving his eyes over each one in turn. He wasn't lying, they _are_ all glorious. Delicious, in fact.

Somewhere near the middle of the line, Castiel looks over a man only a few inches taller than him, all tanned skin, sandy brown hair and peridot green eyes. He's staring studiously away, over Castiel's shoulder, and when he pauses his step, just for a second, the man slowly, gingerly lowers his gaze until they're staring right into one another. Castiel shoots him a smirk, taking another step and watching him visibly swallow, the flush in the man's cheeks and collar spreading under the Emperor's brief attention.

 _Huh_ , Castiel thinks. _Interesting_.

He continues down the line of boys, offering each the same attention. When he gets to the opposite end of the line, he doubles back and retraces his steps, allowing each boy a fair chance to prove himself. 

He's set on which to choose, though, ever since he'd begun mentally comparing each man to the one with peridot eyes.

'I have made my decision,' he announces softly, coming to stand in front of the man in question. 'What is his name?' he asks Caecilius. 

Having been singled out, the man's back straightens, thighs tighten and his jaw clenches, giving him the appearance of a living, breathing marble statue.

'He calls himself Dean, Emperor, but you are welcome to call him whatever you like.' Caecilius informs him.

 _Dean_. He's never heard a man simply called _Dean_ before. It's unusual. Castiel finds he rather likes the exotic.

'Dean is perfectly acceptable,' he whispers, crowding up in Dean's space, wrapping a loose hand around his cock and stroking slowly. 'Would you like to join me, Dean? Live here with me? Let me satisfy you?'

Dean tenses, clearly conflicted. A small whimper escapes from him at the attention. When he speaks, it's gruff but resigned. 'Do I have a choice?'

Castiel chuckles, taking his hand from Dean's straining erection and bringing it up to his hair, pulling the tendrils fondly. 'You haven't been a slave very long, have you?' 

Dean considers for a second, then shakes his head. Castiel knows from the solemn expression on his face that he's telling the truth. 

'You haven't been given much choice since then, have you?' he asks again, questions probing a little too deep. 

The muscle in Dean's jaw jumps as he bites his tongue, humiliation half making him hate this guy and half going straight to his dick. After a beat, he spits out a gruff and resentful 'no', face set in a grimace. 

Castiel can only imagine some of the things he must have seen, and done, the way his life must have changed so quickly. He doesn't trouble himself over it because that's the way society has functioned for generations. Still, he feels for the poor boy. So he shushes him, stroking his hair again. 

'I'm giving you the choice, Dean. You can stay here with me, or you can go back to working for Caecilius. I know he does not subject you to hard labour, and I trust you are fully aware of what your duties here will be. If you choose to work for Caecilius, you will not be harmed.' The Emperor's eyes are wide and blue, genuine, voice soft and warm.

Dean looks at him while he thinks about it. Leaving would only result in death, one way or another. He's not sure how he'll be treated here but if the look in Castiel's eyes is anything to go by, he's guessing he'll be treated well. He has to make selfish decisions because it's the only way he'll survive. Besides, all the rumours about the Emperor were true; people would kill to sleep with him. A wayward thought that Dean would let this man do anything to him worms its way into his brain and instinctively he knows it's the truth.

In a blink, he decides 'I'll stay'. 

Castiel beams and Dean smiles back at him hesitantly. The Emperor strokes a hand down the body of his new boy, from his head to his chest, then back down his stomach to curl once more around his cock.

'Are you sure, pretty boy?' he asks, voice low and breathy in Dean's ear. His cock twitches in Castiel's hand, a bead of precome leaking out of the tip and he chuckles. That's a yes, then.

'You heard him,' Castiel barks suddenly, stepping back from Dean to address Caecilius. 'Unshackle my boy, he has places to be.'

'Yes of course Emperor,' Caecilius scurries to do as he's told, releasing the binds from Dean's neck, wrists and ankles. 

Dean steps away from the strangers he'd been brought in with, experimentally rolling his shoulders back. At one time he would have fought to protect them, but not now, not after everything he's been through. He's lost everything and his repeated bids for freedom had almost been a death sentence; he has his beauty and interest in sleeping with men to thank for his life.

Castiel orders Caecilius to leave with the rest of the slave boys and take up payment for Dean with Brutus. He turns to him, then, a warm smile on his face. 'Come with me,' he offers softly, a hand outstretched. Dean obediently holds it and is taken down a number of indistinguishable hallways, feet cold on the marble mosaic floor.

The Emperor leads him through a velvet curtain into what must be the grandest bedroom Dean has ever seen, free man or otherwise. It's incredible, adorned with purple drapes, gold satin and silver metals. The floor is covered in the richest animal hide, soft and warm beneath his bare feet, blissful relief after the cold marble. The bed, _their_ bed, large and luxurious, the centrepiece of the room, is covered in a fine, white net drape which Dean thinks is hand spun silk.

'Would you like something to eat?' Castiel asks him, offering a plate of fruit and fresh cut meats. It smells delicious and it'd probably be the best quality food Dean's ever eaten in his life, but he softly replies 'no thanks'; he's too nervous to eat right now. 

His erection is beginning to lose interest in the mid-autumn air, the lack of attention and that can't happen, not here not _now_. He turns inconspicuously from the Emperor's gaze, while he's considering which grape to pop into his mouth, and absently takes himself in his hand with a few encouraging strokes.

Moments later, he hears Castiel chuckle, coming up to stand behind him. In the privacy of his bedroom, away from watchful eyes, he pushes himself up against Dean, lips at his shoulder, half-hard cock in the crook of his ass. 'Surely,' he whispers in the same low, velvet voice he'd used before, pausing to wrap a hand around Dean's cock, 'I should be the one doing that, hm?'

Dean groans at the contact, dropping his head back onto Castiel's shoulder. The Emperor's fingers are long, grip just this side of fucking perfect, stroking him with experienced ease. He pants softly, hips canting into Castiel's hand, his own hands gently, tentatively, reaching back so he can brace himself on the Emperor's thighs.

'I want you to tell me the truth at all times, Dean,' Castiel instructs, voice soft. 'You're not in danger. I'm not responsible for the death of anyone who is loyal to me, do you understand?'

'Yeah,' he affirms, breathy and quiet. 'Yeah, okay.'

Castiel holds Dean's hip firmly in one hand, moving the other from his cock to lightly stroke up to his dusty pink nipples. He chuckles when Dean whines at the lack of touch, inhales when he moans at the pain-pleasure spreading through him.

'Do you find me attractive, Dean?' Castiel asks, voice light and pleasant.

'Yeah,' Dean rasps, arching into the Emperor's touch.

'Good,' Castiel practically _purrs_ into his ear, trailing his fingertips back down to Dean's cock. He starts stroking slowly, increasing the pace with every word that falls from his lips. 'You're gorgeous, Dean. From the very second I laid eyes on you, I knew you had to be mine. Look at you, pretty boy,' he twists his hand quickly at the end of Dean's cock making him back further into Castiel for leverage, shamelessly moaning. 'You even smell delectable.'

'Th- Thanks, fuck,' Dean moans, legs weak and dick throbbing. 'You're beautiful, your Highness, your Grace, your- What do I call you? Oh _fuck yeah_ like that.'

'Castiel,' he chuckles, licking a stripe possessively up the side of Dean's neck, right under his ear. 'My name is Castiel.'

Dean lets out a laugh, choking through a quiet 'no shit'.

'I love your cock,' Castiel tells him, almost slurring his words with lust, biting his lip as the heavy throbs pulse into his skin. 'So hard and beautiful, Dean. You really are my perfect boy, aren't you?'

Dean makes pleased, desperate sounds in response before choking out 'I wanna see yours, Cas. Can I?'

Castiel grins, growling possessively, holding Dean by the shoulders and turning him around to look him straight in the eye. 

There's a moment where neither of them is particularly sure what to do. Dean considers whether it's a death sentence to kiss the Emperor without his permission, despite the Emperor's assurances and Castiel, despite his bravado, considers whether Dean even wants to be kissed, wants to be held and touched so delicately. Castiel knows that, to Dean, this is probably just sex from here on out. He can't say for sure he's found something else yet, but sex hadn't been all he was looking for.

Before their thoughts run away with either of them, Dean breaks the tension in one swift movement, dropping to his knees and looking up at Castiel, licking his lips and grinning. Castiel moans, running a hand through his boy's hair before shrugging off his toga as easily as he can.

Naked and pale, though slightly tanned where the sun has kissed his skin, the grand Emperor stands a little hunched over, a little self-conscious. Dean notices, surprised, but he doesn't point it out. Instead he presses a soft kiss to the top of Castiel's thigh, entwines their fingers together, noses gently at his balls. All this elicits breathy moans and gasps from Castiel as he unravels, his cock curving up against his stomach.

'Dean,' he half-warns half-pleads, precome clinging to the head, threatening to roll down his shaft.

Dean smirks, taking Castiel in hand and licking it off. 'Yeah?' he asks, but before Castiel can respond Dean's taken him in, swallowing him down, teasing the back of his throat with his cock. He hollows out his cheeks, sucking and stroking Castiel in a relentless rhythm that undoes him.

'Nngh, Dean yeah. Such a good boy, such a beautiful mouth, lips all stretched and pink and perfect around my cock, so _pretty_.' 

Dean looks up at him, green eyes half-lidded and glazed over in pleasure, Castiel's hand twisting and pulling in his hair. He takes Castiel further and further, pushing his cock down his tight throat, swallowing and humming around him.

When Castiel's grip starts clenching tighter, his eyes press shut, toes curl and his balls tense up, Dean pulls off, wiping his mouth. The Emperor makes an unhappy noise of surprise, rocking on his heels as his hips unconsciously chase Dean's mouth.

'You know,' Dean starts conversationally, standing and pulling Castiel close to him, holding his sides and whispering in his ear. 'I've never been fucked before.'

'Never?' Castiel squeaks because _fuck_ , Dean looks... Interested. Scared, he notices in the line of his body and the way he's shaking a little where he holds onto him, but his eyes are twinkling with curiosity.

'Never,' he replies resolutely. 'And I can't help noticing that you're hard enough to really, really give it to me.' He wraps a hand around Castiel, loose and languid like he had before, stroking tentatively. The Emperor whimpers next to his ear and he smirks. 'Would you like to fuck me, Cas?' he asks, voice a heavy whisper.

Dean allows Castiel to shove him back onto the bed roughly with a playful look in his eye, sending him cascading through the silk drapes. He bounces slightly and it's so soft he almost wants to groan at the feeling of this level of comfort. Before he has a minute to appreciate it, though, Castiel is on top of him, kissing and sucking marks into his neck. Dean moans, spreading his legs instinctively to allow Castiel to shuffle in between.

Castiel supports himself on his forearms, slotting their hips together, the slide of their cocks making Dean throw his head back and groan. A low chuckle bubbles in the back of Castiel's throat and he rolls his hips again, experimentally, making Dean buck and keen with the need for more friction _damn it Cas_.

'You want more, pretty boy?' he teases, so quietly Dean barely hears him, has to take a second to work out the words, but when he does he has to grab the base of his dick for a second, just to calm down, to relax, because he's dancing at the edge and there's no way he's cascading over it.  
He nods, panting, biting his lip as Castiel gets up, walking across the room and coming back with a small vial of oil. Dean shuffles back onto the bed, spreading his legs wider, an open invitation.

The Emperor looks down at him, blue eyes framing starving black. 'Turn over,' Castiel requests. When Dean looks at him, slightly hurt, like this was ever going to be something more than just sex, he whispers soothingly 'it'll feel better this way, first time, for both of us. I promise.'

So he does.

The first slip of a finger into him, just up to the knuckle, and Dean bows his head, groaning, pushing his hips back to meet the intrusion. He's not used to this, not by a long shot, but his dick is hard and heavy between his legs and he'll take any sensation to help ease the needy pressure.

Castiel starts moving his forefinger, slowly, pumping in and out of Dean. He feels it when the knuckle breaches him, pushing in further, stretching open his insides, sharp tingles of sensation. It's uncomfortable at first, he bites his lip and audibly gasps, but with repetition comes acceptance and, eventually, he finds himself rocking back onto Castiel's slightly crooked finger, needy and wanting.

When Castiel slips a second finger in, Dean cries out in surprise. The stretch is incredible, intrusive, but it's not as bad as he would have expected it to be. His knuckles whiten, gripping the sheets, brow furrowed in concentration. A hand on the small of his back reminds him to relax, Castiel moving Dean's his hips back for him in time with his own slow thrusts.

He brushes against something inside of Dean, completely by accident, and Dean feels like he's on fire, crying out in pleasure before he can keep his tongue in check.

'Do you- Can you do that again?' he pants, acutely aware of how hard he has to reel himself back in from orgasm.

Castiel tries a couple of times then hits the spot. Dean groans, biting his lip in pleasure, toes curling as he rocks back onto Castiel's fingers. Fuck the slight discomfort, the alien feeling of Castiel scissoring him open, he needs more of that, whatever the hell that was.

A third finger is slipped into Dean, opening him up. He's never felt so full, never felt so needy for something to be inside him. He closes his eyes and thinks about Castiel's hard, dripping cock sliding into him, what it's going to feel like thrusting up against that spot.

His voice is wrecked. 'Come on, Cas, I'm ready, _please_ -'

'I don't want to hurt you, Dean,' he warns, stilling Dean's hips as he bucks back onto his fingers. 'You have to relax.'

'Do you want me to beg?' he asks. 'I'll beg, I'll do anything.'

Castiel groans, Dean's words shooting straight to his cock. 'I think you're ready now,' he decides, pulling his fingers out.

Dean whines at the lack of contact, the empty feeling inside of him. There's wet noises coming from behind him as Castiel slicks himself up with oil, moaning sweetly at the slide of his hand on his own forgotten dick.

Dean wiggles his ass, feeling the stretched ring of muscle flutter. Then there's a warm feeling against him, something sinuous and hot pressing against his hole. Castiel pushes harder, the resistance almost making the intrusion painful but then something gives; Dean lets out a low, guttural moan.

Castiel pushes into him slowly, letting him breathe between the slide of each inch. Later, when he's in to the hilt, Dean wiggles his hips, the sensation bursting through his cock, his lower abdomen, up his spine and _everywhere_. He can feel himself still becoming used to this, body changing and shifting to accommodate, but once it does and the discomfort subsides, Castiel pulling gently at Dean's hair, there's only one thing he wants.

'Move,' he croaks, bowing his head and resting on his elbows, ass high in the air. 'Please.'

The shift of Castiel's hips is shallow at first, eliciting soft ' _ah, ah, ah_ 's from Dean, tumbling out of his lips unchecked.

'So tight, _gnuh_ , you feel amazing,' Castiel moans, muscles in his hips tight from the self-restraint he's exercising not to pin Dean down and fuck him into the mattress without any regard for his own well-being.

'Yeah, fuck this is good, this is-' then Castiel hits that spot again with more force than Dean knows what to do with and he can't speak, noises being torn from his body that don't even sound like himself, don't even sound human. Now Castiel's found it, a shallow tilt to his hips, he just goes for it.

The more he hits, the more Dean bucks back onto him, the faster he wants to go. Dean is going to be sore for the rest of his damn life but he just doesn't care, this feels so fucking _good_. Castiel thrusting into him with increasing force, driving force, hitting that spot on every second or third thrust, enough to frustrate him, enough to make him really fucking want to be back on Castiel's dick, grind his ass back into his hips and ride his cock until he can't remember his own name.

The weird thing is, Dean can actually feel when Castiel is going to come. His cock swells a little inside his ass, stretching him, head pressing up against his prostate, his hips stutter, fingertips bruising into his hips, so Dean slams back onto him one last time, moaning his name when he feels something warm and wet fill him up.

Castiel reaches around to grasp Dean's cock, jacking him off with ruthless, unforgiving, quick and expert strokes. A long twist down to the base, quick twists around the head and a hushed, surprised whisper of 'fuck you _liked_ that didn't you, pretty boy?' and Dean is coming in Castiel's hand, onto the sheets and yelling, reaching back to grip Castiel's raven hair.

He falls onto the bed in a crumpled heap and the Emperor comes to curl around him. They smile lazily at one another before Dean thinks that really, there are worse things to die for, then closes the space between them and kisses him.

The first few kisses are chaste and superfluous, but a questioning lick from Castiel and an allowance from Dean leads to making out until the sun goes down. They stop to eat and fall asleep together, but not before Dean knows what it feels like to have an Emperor's lips around his aching cock.

Little indulgences here and there are what makes Emperor Castiel the happiest. To truly know what you want and allocate the rest of yourself to doing what is right is the key to anyone's success. The Emperor knows that Dean is something he truly wants, more than power or wealth.

That night, wrapped in each other's arms, Dean considers that despite how he got here, despite all the hardship and trouble that had led him to this auspicious moment, this might just be something he wants, too.

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoyed it! Comments welcome, as usual.
> 
> (Again, find the pop-culture reference Easter egg and comment if you do!)
> 
> [In Ancient Rome, they had no tumblr. But I do.](http://choir-of-angels.tumblr.com)


End file.
